


Beneath the Cherry Blossom tree

by drummingnoiseblr



Category: Emma (2020), Emma - Jane Austen
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Romance, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23328700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drummingnoiseblr/pseuds/drummingnoiseblr
Summary: What if Emma realised her feelings earlier?A reimagining of Emma by Jane Austen, inspired by character portrayals in the 2020 film, particularly Emma’s response to Knightley and Jane’s duet. Begins around the time of the Cole’s dinner or just before, and goes from there!
Relationships: George Knightley/Emma Woodhouse
Comments: 32
Kudos: 210





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: 

Emma Woodhouse sat gracefully in Hartfield’s grandest drawing room, sipping tea from her delicate china cup. Great windows on the wall behind her swept from floor to ceiling, allowing the warm sunlight to flood in and light up the entire room. She felt its heat on her like a gentle embrace and found she could use its light to dance rainbows off her cup, and she thus amused herself with shining them on the people that surrounded her. It was Emma that had invited the small group together for tea; organised the servants to provide the best china and the freshest treats. Her father often allowed her these indulgences, so long as she occupied the guests with the vast majority of the conversation, as he was stoutly averse to being subjected to needless chatter with strangers. So it had surprised her then, that she was not presently engaged as the centre of attention - though too, there was a distinct sense of relief that underlay this surprise, as she had found herself to be more and more distracted of late.  
Seated around her were few of her closest acquaintances; to her right sat her dear Mrs Weston, and next to her was Harriet. The two were engaged in some conversation - they were discussing their choice of gowns for the coming evening, Emma presumed, though in fact, it was true that she herself had not been paying much attention, having distracted herself with the comfort of the warm sunlight. Further to her left, on a seat not far from her own sat Mrs and Miss Bates, with the latter of the two loudly praising the quality of confectionery that surrounded them.

“Simply exquisite,” she heard her exclaim, “and such delightful company too, don’t you agree Mother?”  
Opposite her, sat her father, Mr Woodhouse, conversing with Mr Knightley with what seemed to be great vigour. He spoke animatedly, his frantic gestures to the grand windows behind her suggested he was yet again consumed with the threat of the chill draft that so often occupied his thoughts. She smiled secretly to herself, lifting her cup once more to her lips in a feeble attempt to smother it. Mr Knightley glanced over to meet her gaze, and while his lips remained impartial, his eyes betrayed his own mirth at Mr Woodhouse’s ridiculousness. His notice of her served as the jolt back to reality she needed, she set down her cup on its saucer and turned to tune in once more to the conversation at hand.  
“And you, dear Emma, what are your plans for your attire for this evening's events?” asked Mrs Weston, turning her head slightly to include Emma more in the discussion.  
“I don’t imagine I will wear anything too splendid,” she replied, “ ’tis only the Cole’s after all.”  
Their neighbours, the tradesman Cole and his wife, were holding that night dinner to welcome Mr Frank Churchill into Highbury society. Usually, Emma would not have been bothered by such an event, yet her intrigue in the mysterious Mr Churchill had won over her reluctance to leave Hartfield, and so she had accepted her invitation.  
“Well, I’m sure you must have something perfect for such an occasion,” remarked Harriet, “I myself do not have many such fine things as you, but indeed that does not concern me, for I will have the pleasure at marvelling at your own choice of attire!”  
Emma’s heart sank slightly with Harriet’s flattery, for her young friend so often had cause to feel envy, but chose kindness each time - something Emma was not quite convinced she could replicate. 

“My dear Harriet, you must come up with myself and Maria later, for we shall find you something splendid for you also.” Harriet’s responding flush of excitement and hurried onslaught of thanks settled Emma’s own discomfort.  
“How lovely! How generous you are Miss Woodhouse! Such kindness you show!” exclaimed Miss Bates, who had been following the young ladies’ exchange “I myself am trembling with excitement, for my niece Jane Fairfax is also to be introduced this very evening! This very evening I say, I find I can do nothing but shiver with excitement!”  
Emma found this remark incredibly difficult and resisted the strong urge to roll her eyes. It seemed she would never not be taunted by Jane Fairfax and her excellent countenance. As much as Emma hated to admit it, she couldn’t help but be jealous of the young woman, despite their being unacquainted.  
“What say you, Mr Woodhouse? Will you be joining us for this evening’s festivities?” Miss Bates was continuing, her voice carrying even louder as to account for Mr Woodhouse’s supposed deafness. The room quieted, exchanging humorous glances at Mr Woodhouse’s shock. He was, in fact, capable of perfect hearing.  
“Ah, I-, er, well. No, quite frankly.” he stuttered in reply, looking helplessly to Mr Knightley.  
“I suppose Mr Woodhouse would much prefer the comfort of his armchair and the warm fire.” Knightley offered.  
Miss Bates smiled understandingly and took this opportunity to launch into an enthusiastic retelling of Jane Fairfax’s love for the quiet and reading, much like Mr Woodhouse, giving Mrs Weston the opportunity to turn once more towards her young friend. “Are you quite well, my dear?”  
“Yes, yes. Very well of course, why should you suppose otherwise?”  
“I suppose you do not seem your usual self. You’ve been awfully quiet. Distracted even.”  
Emma, who up until now had found herself gazing absent-mindedly at Mr Knightley while he spoke in earnest to Miss Bates, blinked herself out of her reverie and turned fully to Mrs Weston, who was sporting a look of gentle concern.  
“I am terribly sorry, I have neglected my duties. I must confess that I am concerned slightly for tonight's dinner,” she spoke softly while smoothing the silk folds of her skirts with her palms. It was true, she had noticed the bubble of nervousness that was fluttering about her stomach and chest, but could not herself name the reason behind it. Stealing a last - perhaps reassuring - look at Knightley (one that inadvertently caught his attention), she patted her friend's hand and focused her attention back towards her. Emma could see Mrs Weston’s honest concern for her grow the longer she hesitated, so resolved to find the most logical explanation for her anxieties.  
“I suppose it is only since I know there are many that may believe that Mr Frank Churchill is intended for me, and only that I do not wish to be forced into any sort of expectation. I also daresay that I am anxious for the arrival of Miss Jane Fairfax, for I wholly do not wish for comparisons to be drawn between us both.” Emma lowered her voice slightly, aware of Miss Bates’ presence behind them. “I fear if I hear much more of Jane Fairfax’s perfection, I shall expire!”  
The two friends giggle conspiratorially, catching the attention of the others in the room. 

“Such laughter we hear from the two young ladies!” exclaims Miss Bates, “Pray, tell us the joke or we should all simply tremble from the mystery!”.  
Unbeknownst to Emma, Mr Knightley had watched her face closely since noticing her glance at him. Catching his eye now, and with him reclined ever so slightly in his armchair, Emma felt at once as though she was being warned - prematurely scolded for sharing private jokes. Although it was not especially at Miss Bates’ expense, Emma still felt the embarrassment creep into her face like a hot vine, crawling up her cheeks. Knightley tended to have this effect of late, she thought.  
“Oh ’twas nothing I fear, my dear Miss Bates,” Emma began. “we old friends must be allowed our few secrets, must we not?”. Pleased with what she considered a diplomatic and inoffensive response, she went to pick up her cup from where it rested but halted as Mr Knightley’s sarcastic shrug of a voice cut across Miss Bates’ awaiting reply.  
“You must ignore her.” he addressed Miss Bates, but his condescending tone spoke directly to Emma. Turning almost lazily to look at her once more, he added: “Perhaps if Miss Woodhouse so desires to giggle like a child, then she should remove herself to the old nursery.”  
Emma’s face truly was flushed now, and her heart raced to match. His lectures were not unfamiliar, but to address her with such a look and tone, he seemed almost scornful of her. Usually, his words of reproach were accompanied by a forgiving gaze. Emma averted her eyes in embarrassment, glancing at Mrs Weston, who - like the room at large - seemed surprised by Knightley’s rebuke. 

“Come now, Knightley,” she said. “it was not just Emma that laughed. We women must be indulged our sillinesses every so often. It reminds us of simpler times.”  
“Indeed, my apologies ladies.” Was Knightley’s reply, along with a charming smile directed towards Emma and Mrs Weston. His apology seemed to placate the room, yet Knightley noticed that Emma still would not meet his gaze. Perhaps he had been slightly too harsh, he thought. Usually, she seemed to detect his banter and equal his jibes. He had noticed she had not been quite herself, and only wished to reassure her with his familiar and gentle teasing. 

As the room resumed its normal chatter, Emma found herself reeling from Knightley’s words. Only minutes later, the group dispersed in order to begin preparations for the dinner that evening. Knightley thought he could pull Emma to the side to try and puzzle her mood, but she quickly made herself scarce after the usual pleasantries, escorting Harriet upstairs to find her a suitable dress for the evening. As he walked across the hills back home, Knightley frowned to himself and resolved to speak to her later that evening. Emma watched him walk from one of the large windows, the sun seemed to follow his strides as he strolled up and over the rolling hills.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

Standing in front of a tall gilded mirror-glass while Maria laced the final stays of her dress, Emma fiddled with her appearance. Her hair had been exquisitely curled and pinned to her head, with a few corkscrew strands left dangling by the nape of her neck. A gold band crowned her head and tucked behind her ears. Her dress was made of gentle silk, the colour of daybreak; the hues of orange and dusky pink intertwined and were framed by a soft emerald embroidery. As Maria curtsied and left her mistress, Emma reached her hand to brush her emerald and gold set necklace. She felt floaty - as if she were someone else watching this woman in the mirror. For a moment she let herself pretend her hand was not her own. She removed her glove and lifted her hand from her chest, brushing her elegant fingers against her rosy cheek. In her mind’s eye, the hand was larger, stronger, than her own. Big enough to engulf her own, but gentle enough that it left a line of fire wherever it touched. Her eyelids fluttered close as she gave into her little daydream, her cheeks flushed and her breath hitching, she felt exhilarated for some inexplicable reason. If anything, before this, she had been preoccupied with her lingering embarrassment at Mr Knightley’s comments. Why now, did she feel she was floating on cloud nine? Knightley’s face appeared in front of her closed lids; she could see his soft, kind eyes as they looked at her. His lips slightly parted in a half-smile, half frown, and his sand-coloured hair curling about his ears and his brow. How many times had she looked into this face before? The number seemed countless to her now as she imagined it smile at her, his hand stretched out to touch her face...  
There was a sharp rap at the door, and Maria’s voice - “Miss Woodhouse, the carriage is ready for yourself and Miss Smith, shall I have it brought round?”  
Having been forced abruptly from her dream-like state, Emma looked around in an almost frantic manner as she tried to comport herself.  
“Yes, I’ll be there presently!” She hastened to reply. Her voice sounded thin and wavering as it travelled across the room. 

Harriet was already seated in the carriage by the time Emma came to settle herself. Her bright eyes and beaming smile did little to hide her evident excitement.  
“Oh Miss Woodhouse! How enthralling this all is! I can hardly it still for excitement!”  
“My dear Harriet try to maintain a semblance of calm, or you’ll wear yourself out before we even arrive at the venue.” Emma chastened softly, yet her kind smile at her friend was genuine, for she knew that she inside was brimming with the same energy. She listened amiably while Harriet filled the journey with excited conversation, but her mind was otherwise engaged. Her chest still thumped from her earlier daydream, and her cheek glowed with a pleasurable heat from Knightley’s imagined touch. She could not fathom the feelings that bubbled away inside of her. She knew she had always considered Knightley as one of her closest acquaintances. There was something almost sibling-like about their relation, their quarrelling that always resolved itself as their mutual affection reigned superior. Yet she had never thought more of it, nor examined closely her true sentiments towards him. Now she considered it, the idea of some strange woman arriving to become Mrs Knightley, and hence separating the pair now inspired such horror and dread in her that she could not help but reflect on its meaning. His good opinion mattered more to her than almost anyone, that much was true. Did this mean love? For someone so intent on seeking love for others, Emma could almost laugh at the fact that she had never deigned to contemplate what it consisted of for her personally. Perhaps her arrogance and stubborn nature had blinded her to this.  
She stared past her friend and out of the carriage window, watching the rolling green hills as the sun cast its long orange glow over them, and further - towards the impressive, distant sight of Donwell Abbey. She wondered if he would walk tonight, or if he would take his carriage as everybody else. Suppressing a small smile, she knew that of course he would have walked, as he always did, the stubborn man that he was. Much like herself, she now thought. 

“Oh Miss Woodhouse! Isn’t it wonderful!” Harriets’ cries of joy filled the carriage as they drove up to the Cole’s estate.  
“Indeed!” replied Emma.  
Harriet was the first to exit the carriage, the hand of Mr Weston having appeared to help the young girl and escort her in. Emma was next. An unfamiliar gloved hand was held out towards her, and she looked up to find herself gazing into an even more unfamiliar face.  
“Ah, Emma,” said Mr Weston. “Allow me to introduce my son, Mr Frank Churchill.”  
“Well met,” bowed Mr Churchill.  
“Mr Churchill, a pleasure to meet you.” Emma took his offered hand and followed him inside, slowing only when she noticed the carriage that had pulled up behind them. It was Mr Knightley’s, she knew it. Except, Mr Knightley did not exit the carriage, but instead a young woman with curling dark hair, followed by an ever-enthusiastic Miss Bates. Jane Fairfax, she thought, turning again to walk inside. 

Dinner had been pleasant enough. Seated next to Mr Churchill, Emma found herself to be the object of his direct fascination, although his booming voice and exaggerated gestures seemed to be to the benefit of entertaining the room, rather than her alone. She wandered around the drawing-room now, thinking to herself. Jane Fairfax and Mr Knightley had been sat together all evening, and conversing quite amicably it seemed. She tried to suppress her envy as he laughed at her words now, as they stood readying themselves for a musical performance. She came to rest beside a large pillar, and soon she was joined by an excited Mrs Weston by her arm.  
“Listen here Emma, and tell me what you think of this,” she held Emma’s elbow lightly as she spoke. “I have made a match, between Mr Knightley and Jane Fairfax. What do you suppose of that?”  
“Mr Knightley and Jane Fairfax?” Her eyes turned towards her friend in shock.  
“Yes, my dear. Did you know he sent her and Miss Bates his carriage so that they could arrive in comfort, and he himself walked! Such gentlemanly conduct, I tell you!”  
Emma could hardly speak for her surprise. The bitter feeling of disappointment had settled in her stomach, leaving a vaguely acidic taste in her mouth.  
“I-“ she spluttered, but was cut off by the dimming of the candles and the bustle of people taking their places. “Mr Weston!” called her friend, “Sorry my dear, I must take my seat now!”  
Emma watched her friends back wander away with incredulity, before settling her eyes on Mr Knightley and Jane Fairfax. She sipped her wine in an agitated manner, leaning slightly more against the pillar. In her periphery she saw the tall, dark-haired figure of Mr Churchill, mirroring her stance at the opposing pillar. Their eyes met briefly, which happened to be the exact moment when Mr Knightley’s eyes sought Emma. As she tilted her head back to the front, Knightley busied himself with readying his violin. Sighing, Emma looked longingly at Knightley, admiring his strong profile - and his hands. Now cradling his violin and its bow, she was transfixed by them, their strength and skill. She remembered hotly her earlier fantasy, and that is where her mind stayed as the music began.  
Jane sat at the piano, began to play, her hands moving gracefully over the keys. Her voice, delicate but clear and unwavering accompanied the instrument rather nicely, Emma reluctantly thought. She had to concede that the girl she so envied at present was indeed gifted and well accomplished. Then, Emma’s arms prickled, the hairs standing on end. Her heartbeat almost painfully in her chest, it ached as Mr Knightley opened his lips to sing. The way the rasp of his voice never wavered, the sincerity with which he professed the lyrics - the warmth it exuded enveloped her like a familiar embrace. It brought tears to Emma’s eyes; she felt as though she would collapse for the emotion that overwhelmed her. Stood there, frozen as she was, she knew. This man before her had truly stolen her heart, her body, her soul. It was his, she knew that now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is Chapter 2! I have an idea about where to go with it and I'll hopefully be posting at least once a week - with quarantine I'll have more time to write but it deffo won't be every day! 
> 
> Thanks for the comments they really encouraged me, keep giving me feedback etc, it's really helpful.


	3. Chapter 3

As Knightley and Jane Fairfax’s duet drew to a close, he once more looked around the room with the intent of finding Emma’s gaze. It troubled him now that they had not resolved their earlier quarrel, and he found it irked him each time he found her engaged in conversation with Frank Churchill. Emma and Mr Knightley’s eyes met, hers seemed to glisten in the glow of the candlelight while his creased into a soft frown. Almost as quickly as they made eye contact, Emma dabbed her gloves to her eyes and he watched as she turned on her heels, ignoring Mr Churchill’s outstretched hand of concern, and hurried from the room.  
Emma’s heart raced as she hastened to find her escape, her eyes so blurry that she struggled to see where she was going. Her mind raced with the intensity of her emotion - she hoped to God he hadn’t seen her before she turned. Moving slowly enough so as not to alarm those around her, but fast enough to evade contact, she made a beeline for a huge set of windows left slightly ajar in the far corner of the room. Smiling and nodding at the other guests as she glided past, Emma finally reached the huge doors and slipped discreetly between them and onto the balcony, her heart pounding. Now stood next to the old, white stoned balustrade that overlooked the grounds, Emma rested her hands on her corset and lifted her head up to the darkened sky to feel the breeze blow across her face. Sniffing in the most unladylike manner in the feeble attempt to regain composure, she was faced with the crushing weight of her emotions - the realisation that she was completely in love with Knightley had hit her so quickly, it almost seemed laughable to her. Her own ignorance of her emotions was incredible.  
Her constant pensiveness over the last fortnight, her concern for his good opinion and her upset when she did not receive it, all were testament to her blossoming feelings for Knightley. Her Knightley, she thought. The idea of him belonging to anyone else brought the taste of bile to her throat, especially Jane Fairfax, someone that caused her such unashamed jealously. She wanted him to love her and only her, as she did him. She realised that these feelings had most likely been developing for some time, masked as friendship, respect and loyalty. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be looking at his face, to convince him to forget his scolding her earlier. She knew she would have him in any way she could, lover or friend, she only desired his good opinion of her, no matter the cost to her own feelings. How naive she had been!  
Laughing softly to herself, she wiped her eyes, smoothed her dress and turned to re-enter the drawing-room before she was missed by anyone. 

“Miss Woodhouse,” Frank Churchill was striding towards her, she could see his face dimly lit by the candlelight of the room he stepped from.  
“Mr Churchill, what brings you outside?” Emma replied. Her voice was tinged with the surprise of his sudden appearance, while her face did little to disguise her thinly veiled disappointment that who she really wished to see remained safely inside.  
“I noticed your hurried withdrawal from the room and hoped to inquire after your welfare.”  
“Very noble of you, sir, but I simply found the room to be too stuffy.”  
“Naturally.” Frank Churchill’s brief expression of concern had now evolved into that of a subtle teasing smile. “I too found the entertainment to be incredibly tedious. Such insufferable droning.”  
“Oh come now, it was not so terrible.”“On the contrary, I believe it was! If I may say so, Jane Fairfax seems to have very little talent. Her piano playing leaves much to be desired.” Emma found herself stunned by his words - Jane Fairfax, talentless? Indeed, she did not much care for the woman - less so upon seeing how well acquainted the woman was becoming with her Knightley - but her talent was undeniable!  
“I am shocked indeed, sir! I cannot say for one moment that I agree.” Emma began to bristle, but after catching sight of Mr Churchill’s now fully-extended grin, she relaxed. “You are too cruel, Mr Churchill. Surely you know better than to trick a lady.” she smiled.  
“Yes, yes - I am a scoundrel I know. But has it not successfully diverted you from your preoccupation?”  
“Ha! — indeed it has, you are quite right.” Emma laughed. He was right, her bewilderment at his abrupt judgment of the performance had quite distracted her from her brooding. “See, I suppose we scoundrels have a use after all, wouldn’t you agree?” Frank Churchill offered Emma his arm, she moved to take it and return to the drawing-room. She smiled up at him gratefully, but before they could move an inch, Mr Knightley appeared in the doorway. She thought she saw him frown slightly at hers and Mr Churchill’s joined arms, but as quickly as she saw it, the expression disappeared. A foolish notion, she chided herself. 

“Ah Miss Woodhouse, there you are,” said Knightley, addressing Emma but looking directly at Mr Churchill. “I wondered where you had wandered off to. Was our performance quite so unendurable?”, he now focused his eyes to Emma. She felt her heart thump, almost painfully, in her chest at his gaze and her stomach dropped. Again, she was struck by how many times she must’ve gazed into these gorgeous blue eyes before now; in anger, in annoyance, in jest.  
“Emma?” Knightley was looking curiously at her, she realised. Emma looked between him and Mr Churchill in an apparent loss for words.  
“I think I shall head inside to speak to my father if you’ll excuse me, Miss Woodhouse,” Mr Churchill dropped Emma’s arm and bowed first to her, and then to Knightley, who responded with a courteous incline of the head.  
“Mr Churchill.”, he greeted.  
Emma and Knightley watched as he strode back through the open doors and was quickly enveloped by the warm glow of the room inside.  
“Emma, what on earth are you doing out here?”, asked Mr Knightley, his voice almost stern, “People are missing you.”  
Emma’s heart fluttered. Even his lecturing, it seemed, could not stop her emotions, she thought.  
“My apologies. I did not mean to offend so, I wished only to breathe the night air for a moment.”  
“All is well, then?” he inquired.  
“Yes.”  
“I see.”  
The unusualness of their conversation hung in the air around them. Desperate for the awkwardness to pass, they both began to speak at once:  
“Emma, I—“ “I am sor—“  
“Please, continue,” Knightley said graciously. Emma turned to walk back along the length of the balcony, nervously gesturing for bim to follow. Nodding his head slightly and with his hands clasped behind his back, he fell into step alongside her. Together they dipped in and out of the light as they passed each of the great windows to the drawing-room. “I simply wished to apologise for my behaviour lately.”, she began. “Apologise?”  
“You know. I seem to have been more unbearable to you than ever. You are right to scold me as you do.”.  
There was a brief pause. Emma found she could not bring herself to look at him. She only hoped this would remedy his poor opinion of her for the moment, for she now could think of nothing worse than their being at odds with each other. He stopped walking, forcing her to halt in unison.  
“Emma, you must know that my earlier chastising...I wished only to bring you out of your reverie, forgive me if I implied any anger, for there was none behind it.” “Oh, is that so?” Emma smiled at him.  
“Yes,” Knightley replied, in his usual matter-of-fact way. “Now, may we stop this silliness and resume our friendship?”  
“Hmm. Let me think.” Emma held her chin mischievously and pretended to ponder his suggestion as though it were the most complicated of philosophies.“Ahh, no. I daresay we cannot, sir.”, she replied with mock-seriousness, her eyes glinting. Knightley smiled and looked away quickly, before meeting her eyes once more and sighing in a long-suffering manner. “And why is that, may I ask?”  
Emma hesitated, her heart suddenly squeezing. Although she had only been teasing Knightley, there was suddenly that underlying tension again, for she knew that there was truth to her words. No, she did not wish for them to remain only friends, she wished to be able to call him something infinitely dearer. “I am afraid we are unable to remain friends, for you are far too good of a musician that I shall pale by comparison!”, she tried to laugh off her hesitation. For now, she thought, she would have to settle for his friendship. “Oh, well, we cannot have that,” Knightley teased, breathing a sigh of relief. While he knew she was back to her old self and only jesting, the thought the idea of her rejecting his friendship … well, unthinkable. 

“Emma? Emma?”, the voices of Mrs Weston and her husband floated outside. “There you are!” Mr Weston called loudly, obviously slightly intoxicated. “My dear, we worried where you had got to! Come inside, what are you doing outside in this chill?” Mrs Weston beckoned her from the door. The pair laughed and Knightley offered Emma his arm.  
“Shall we?” He smiled and escorted her back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, the third chapter! What do you think? I was inspired by the tone of their conversation after Knightley dances with Harriet in the film. Thanks for the feedback, I'm really enjoying writing and your encouragement is lovely considering this is my first fic!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think and whether I should continue! I've never written before so it's all new to me.


End file.
